


second chances only come once...

by wanderingmindswonderinghearts



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alpha/Beta, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, F/M, Hanahaki Disease, Hopeful Ending, Reader-Insert, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-02 20:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16312283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingmindswonderinghearts/pseuds/wanderingmindswonderinghearts
Summary: even though it seems like the end is nearing, that doesn't necessarily mean everything is over.





	second chances only come once...

You had only heard about it in stories—in textbooks and history lessons in school or in the news about a case halfway across the globe. It was the kind of thing that people wrote about in online forums and scoffed at in real life at the mere mention of it. It was the kind of thing that happened to damsels in distress in folk tales and in movies and books. It was the kind of thing that should have been impossible. Everyone had their mate, an Alpha to an Omega, a Beta to a Beta, or whatever mix it happened to be. Everyone was supposed to be happy because everyone was supposed to have their own mate, their own perfect life. Your parents liked to tell you that it was the universe’s way of making sure everyone felt loved. But sometimes, the universe made mistakes.

The first time it had happened, you were fifteen years old, just out of school. You had been watching your friends talk with each other against a wall, the intimacy unquestionable. He had wrapped his arms around her waist, hand in her flowing locks. She had blushed something shy and her complexion took on a lovely flush. In that instant, it finally dawned on you. Your chest braided and twisted itself as it constricted and squeezed. In a fit of coughing and choking, a gentle shower of yellow hyacinth and white cyclamen ended your halcyon days.

Your mother had rushed you to the nearest doctor as you continued to gag petals up your burning throat, ruby blood slipping past your fingers and dripping onto the cement below. Even though your throat was on fire, the pounding in your chest was even worse. You couldn’t stop looking at your friends, oblivious to the world, as they smiled at each other, so in love. Guilt built up in the chamber of your head as tears burned in your eyes, pooling and threatening to fall. The panic that settled like a weight in your stomach soured your scent, normally pleasant and feminine lavender, into something that curdled and permeated. The Alphas and Betas, attentive at the smell of a distressed Omega, had stared. You had turned your eyes to the ground and clambered into the car.

 _It’s in her lungs_ , the doctor had told your mother with a grave voice and a heavy heart, _The roots are in her respiratory system and they’ll grow until it slowly kills her from the inside out. She’ll choke to death_.

When you returned to school the next day, the people you passed in the hall stared at you with pitying eyes. Even the teachers had silently expressed their condolences with deep frowns and crinkled brows. The attention, oppressive and leaden, was worse than finding out you had hanahaki. You hated it. The stares and the whispers as classmates and peers questioned you increased with each passing day. What kind of Omega developed hanahaki in the first place? Of the three classes, Omegas were the rarest, the most prized—the most precious. It should have been one of the slew of Betas or one of those abusive Alphas. But if you were an Omega and had hanahaki, maybe you were so unworthy the universe had decided that you could not have a mate. At year’s end, your family moved.

Since then, the petals had not returned. You continued through your career at secondary school with a wall of iron around your heart. You let no one in. You had thought that was all behind you. But now, you are 23 and when you wake up one morning to begin spewing yellow and white from your mouth, thoughts turning to him, the familiar feeling of sickness begins creeping back up your stomach. You scurry to the bathroom and retch into the toilet.

— ☽ —

You had called into work and told your boss you were sick that morning before getting ready to go to the doctor’s office. You ate a quick breakfast and dressed quickly into something comfortable. With a little hesitance, you also applied scent neutralizer. Better safe than sorry, you supposed. While it was unlikely that there were people who would be willing to target you in the middle of the day, many of the people who were out around this time tended to be unsavory. They were the Alphas and Betas that were too unruly and aggressive to be employed. Even though ganging up on unmated Omegas was a deeply stigmatized, you could never be sure around them.

With a sigh, you slipped on your white sneakers and slung your bag across your torso before heading out the door. The medical center was only a kilometer from the apartment you lived in, and the temperature was fair so you didn’t mind the walk. As you passed a few elderly couples walking hand-in-hand, to whom you paused to bow your head in respect, you took note of the milder weather. Winter was nearing its end and spring was just around the corner. The thought made you wrinkle your nose. Spring and early summer was mating season, where pheromones were particularly potent and Alphas and Omegas actively searched for their mates.

Mating season had always stressed you out. Maybe it was the hanahaki, that ever-present thought that it could worsen, maybe it was just because no Alpha had ever shown interest in you, but you tended to feel pressure during that time. You were a little on the older side, too. Most of your Omega peers had already found their mates and bore the scars of their mating marks on their necks proudly. They were the ones who pushed you into finding an Alpha. Too pretty, they always told you, too pretty. You scoffed at the thought—all Omegas were pretty. And your appearance had never helped you win over an Alpha or a Beta. You were still too much of a runt—a little too cynical, a little too distrusting, a little too independent—than most bachelors found attractive.

As you rounded the corner, you collided with another person. Pain bloomed on your underside, the breath knocked out of you as you tumble to the ground. Around you, white paper floated to the sidewalk, flicking and twirling in the whispering wind. You watch them fall to the ground like petals on a breezy morning. A large hand appears in front of your face. Time seems to slow for you and everything else fades into the background as you take in the person before you, gaze resting squarely on his face. You feel the thanks you were going to give catch under your breath as you swallow. _He’s beautiful_ , you think to yourself.

His presence, calm and reassuring, tells you Beta. His scent, dominant like roaring ocean waves and thunderstorms, tells you Alpha. You take in his eyes, a deep rich carmine, and the confidence that sparkles in them and you’re smitten. The smile he gives you makes your heart thud faster in your chest and you know then that you can’t help but fall in love.

(That night, you see crying stars fall into nothingness in your dreams). 

— ☽ — 

His name is Apollo. It’s an unusual name, especially around where you live, but you like it—it suits his sunny disposition. (You find it a little funny that he is named after the Greek god of the sun when he smells so much like the ocean). He’s a little older than you, by six years, but you knew people with mates 15 years older than them, so it doesn’t matter to you. He’s kind and confident and just the right amount of Alpha to make you swoon. You think that he’s perfect. The perfect man. The perfect partner. The perfect Alpha. The perfect mate, if he didn’t already have one.

You weren’t surprised to learn that he already had a mate. You haven’t met her, but he’s shown you the pictures. She’s beautiful. She’s a Beta, outgoing and assured of herself and everything you’re not. Her emerald green eyes seem to sparkle in the photo of her that Apollo keeps in his wallet. You feel jealousy bubble up in your chest whenever he talks about her, but you paste a smile on your face and nod with every glowing comment, heart squeezing ever-tighter. Sometimes, he tells you he wants you to meet her. When he says that, you want to flee from him as you feel your heart stutter and your breath dissipate into thin air.

At nights, you return to your apartment, petals falling from your cupped hands as you race to heave into the toilet. You’ve found full flowers, signs that your condition is worsening, petals streaked in your blood, amidst the rainfall of petals. You want to call the doctor those nights because now you know for sure that this hanahaki is meant for Apollo. The flowers may have changed, now a camellia, but that does not change the stench that now emanates. It reeks of nauseating blood and heady flowers, of souring hope and cloying perfume, of unreturned love and salty tears. The smell clings to everything. And try as you might, you know that the odor embraces you like death embraces a falling leaf.

When he is not with you, everything you see reminds you of him. You see him in the sunset, in the chatter on a busy day, in the calmness of a library. You see him in paintings and you see him in the books you read when you try to distract yourself. Sleep seems to escape you. You toss and turn every night. When you can dream, you dream that Apollo loves you back. You dream about waking up to him every morning, able to roll over and see his sleepy smile. You dream about being able to splash through puddles on a rainy day as you race through abandoned streets, hair and clothes stuck to your skin as you laugh in the silence. You dream about strolling through a meadow at night, far away from the city, and gazing up at silvery gods and pray for falling stars as they fall from heaven. You wake up in the mornings covered in sweat, heart aching for something you never had in the first place.

— ☽ — 

Apollo calls you after he realizes that you haven’t spoken in some time. You wonder if he knows you’ve been avoiding him on purpose. When you pick up, he speaks quickly with worry seeping into his voice. You can only muster a half-hearted response as he asks you if you’ve been feeling well. You tell him that you were busy and, desperate to change the subject, ask him how he has been. You know that if you reveal the true state of your health, he will do nothing but fret over you. Although the thought of him worrying over you made you happy, you weren’t selfish enough to bring him that pain. He brightens up quickly and quickly begins talking. He’s good at reading your moods and filling in your silence—that’s part of the reason you got along so well. The sound of his voice calms you, his deep timbre warming you down to your bones at the cadence. His voice is as large as the night sky as it fills you up with wonder. You can imagine the smile that is on his face right now, eyes crinkling into little crow’s feet and his smiles lines creasing. You feel the corners of your own mouth pulling up into a lovesick smile. Butterflies flutter about in your stomach and you feel warmth build up—

“—meet her?”

You feel your giddiness dissipate in an instant and you furrow your brow. You know that he is asking you to meet his mate. You hesitate in your response long enough that he repeats his question again, concern edging into his voice. You give a half-hearted, _Yes!_ , even though you feel your heart sink further into your stomach. As you hang up with him, you can feel your throat heave with effort and your breath stutters.

— ☽ — 

“My name is Lorelei. It’s so nice to finally meet you after all this time! Apollo is always talking about you!”

Her smile is as radiant as the sun, her eyes are like stars. Immediately, you understand why Apollo loves this woman so much. She is the kind of woman who smiles rainbows and cries crystals. You know that you cannot hate her. 

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” You tell her, your smile shy. 

You walk with her ahead of Apollo, arm looped with hers. She is genial and talkative, filling in the silence when you falter in your response. She asks you questions about yourself (“What’s your favorite book?” “What do you do for a living?” “Do you have any siblings?” “I hope that Apollo’s been treating you well… he’s a bit of a jerk—hey!”) and drags you along to shops that pique her interest. Night quickly falls.

When the balls of your feet are sore and puffy and your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, you find yourself tucked into the corner of a little café. Lorelei and Apollo—you are surprised to find you haven’t thought of him at all this afternoon—sit across from you and close the space between them as they ponder over the menu. They’re really cute together. Clearly, they are very comfortable with each other, their energies differ from each other just enough that you can see easily how they can love each other so easily. You let out a shaky, heavy breath as pain spikes in your chest. It's the comforting, familiar ache that you have been expecting to rear its head all day.

You duck your head. Really, you think that this outing was like a test or something. If Apollo’s mate was good for him, as happy as he deserved, then you knew that you could let him go. If not, you weren’t sure if you would pursue him, but you knew that you would do everything in your power to make him happy. As you stare over your menu across the table to where Apollo and Lorelei are can only see each other, sweeping thumbs over bond marks, you know that you are making the right decision. A weight that you never even knew you had lifts from your shoulders, and it’s like you can breathe for the first time in years.

You are shaken from your reverie as the waitress comes over. The crinkle in her eyes and the white of her hair sets you at ease even as the throbbing continues. Pad in hand, she turns to you.

“And what would you like, miss?” Her voice is flowing like the river.

With a bright smile that creases your cheeks, you hand the menu back to her, ”I’d like hot tea please, heavy on the honey. I’m in the mood for something sweet.”

When you reach your apartment, you reach for the phone book, searching for a particular name. You quickly dial the number in and wait as the ringtone beeps in your ear.

Beep

Beep

Beep

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Hello? How can I help you?” Your stomach rolls with nervousness. 

You take a deep breath, ”Hi… can I make an appointment?”

— ☽ — 

The news reaches him after you’ve gone through with the surgery. Apollo isn’t sure how to handle the news. He tells Lorelei on a cold, crisp night as she holds him in her steady arms, steady hands. Even so, he can feel her surprise in the way her breath waivers in the chilled air and her heart beats too quickly, stuttering in anxiousness. They say nothing that night, pondering on how it came to this.

If he’s completely honest, Apollo had always known there was something that was wrong with you. In all his time of knowing you, which was really little more than a year (though it seemed like he had known you for forever), he had never thought to bring it up. He could never pinpoint it, but he could always see it in the way that your limbs hung at your sides when you thought had wasn’t looking—fatigued—or the way that your laugh had always sounded a little bit off. Apollo never wanted to push you in fear that he would cause you discomfort. He thought maybe it was some sort of disease or maybe it was a mental thing. Thinking back on it, he regrets not taking the time to ask. In the time it takes you to recover, Apollo wonders who you had developed hanahaki for and how they must be wonderful; anyone would be lucky to have you as a mate and really, you deserved the best.

The next time Apollo and Lorelei meet you is a week after you leave the hospital. You meet at the café you first had drinks all those months ago. When you come in, he can see the difference in you immediately. It’s like you’re a completely different person. You carry yourself in a different manner than before, shoulders back a little bit and your hair swept out of your face to showcase your bare neck. While most people your age would mind their lack of a mark, you didn’t seem to give it much thought. Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t have the capacity to care, or maybe it was because you now had the confidence to be your own person but whatever that reason, uncertainty wells in his chest. He wonders how the surgery has changed you, for better or for worse. At that moment, he begins to tremble. Lorelei grasps his hand in her own and gives him a half-hearted smile.

Together, they watch as you pull your chair out from under the table and drop into it with an ease you had never had before. You move with a lightness as though you are weightless. Now that he is closer to you, Apollo can see the way that your eyes sparkle like candles under the dim lights. It reminds him of crackling campfires and shared songs and rambunctious, crazy laughter. As he looks into the richness of your hues, warmth spreads throughout his body as he realizes that you will be okay. You won’t be the same as before, but now that you are here in front of him, he thinks that maybe that is alright. Because without the weight you once bore, you can be freed to live the way you want. He reaches across the table to grab your hand in his.

“I’m glad that you’re here now.”

You stare him directly in the eyes, head cocked to the side. You pull your lip into your mouth as you mull over what you want to say in a silence that, even though it is no more than a heartbeat, feels like it takes an eternity. Then, you squeeze his hand and the smile you give him is so breathtaking, it brings tears to his eyes.

“I know that you were worried about me. And I’m really sorry for not telling you both. But I’m glad to be back. I’m really happy that you are here with me.”

That night, he watches as you and Lorelei race through silverlit streets, moonlight streaming across your backs as you weave in and out of shadows. 

(When he goes to bed, he sees the moon bring crying stars into its embrace, its luminescence smiling down upon its companions as they cast their radiance across the heavens. As the stars align, he finally feels at peace).

**Author's Note:**

> if you get here to the end, thank you so much for taking the time to read my story! this is my first story that i'm putting out and am relatively satisfied with in a long while. i'm not sure what direction i want to take with my writing in the future, but please leave comments or critiques, they're very appreciated


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